PART ONE e – the Party

  She was back with her own clothes.

  "Your stuff. I forgot about the video you sent me, showing your ass cracked open all over the restaurant, and wherever else you went."

  "Are you mad I borrowed something? You're always trying to…"

  "Its fine, Hurry. Just…"

  "What?"

  "Um. Why… are they in the dryer? Did it rain here, on this side of town."

  "They needed dried, okay? That's what the dryer does, it dries things."

  "How did they get… wet."

  "Light…"

  "Did… you spill lemonade on them…"

  I sighed.

  "I'm fucking with you. Its fine. Did… you have fun? Going out like that? I know, it was something new for you. Come on, wasn't it… neat?"

  I smiled sheepishly.

  "Uh huh. It was a… birthday show, for this one. But… I kinda got in the zone, quicker than I thought. By the time I was done at the first junk store, I had my walk all down pat and everything."

  Lightning smiled.

  "I saw the movie. Good for you. I keep telling you, there's nothing wrong with it. You go shopping, do they hide stuff? No, see through pstic. Or you don't know what you're buying."

  "It was supposed to be for him."

  "Yeah. Starts out like that. I was young. Once… but I was. But now you know. Its for you, too. You felt… sexier, didn't you? You did. Admit it. Come on…"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay. Keep it. Yours."

  "Oh… I can't."

  "He'll have another birthday next year. You got a closet. Go on."

  "No, I couldn't. I don't… designer…"

  "Oh. I give three shits about the bel. Hell, I think I've given more stuff to Right than I kept for myself. My mom? Can stuff her ptinum credit card up her loose middle aged ass. Do you have any idea, how many hooker miniskirts I got in there? Like I need one more."

  "You… do have a couple."

  "Plus? You act like I never ran any of my hooker clothes through the dryer, for no real reason before. You left the hooker outfit on, didn't you? Wizzy… earth to Wizzy… did she leave the hooker skirt on? Hmm?"

  "Uh…"

  "Fucking epileptic, I forgot. Hurry? I'm teasing you. I leave the clothes on all the time. Part of the show, hun. What I'm trying to say? Is… these? Are yours now."

  "Sorry, Light. I know… icky…"

  "Icky my ass. Congratutions, farm slut. You? Are the proud owner, of your very first pair of… lucky clothes. Lucky skirt, lucky shirt… lucky skirt, lucky shirt…"

  She giggled, cpped, turned it into some childhood tease rhyme. I get undressed and dressed again, all season long in front of her. I put her in the corner of the showers, and physically guard her. Don't have to anymore, but its routine now. Ritual. I make sure, we're the st two lockers in the line. Once again, she's at the wall, and I physically block access to her. Ritual.

  Like its any big deal if he sees me getting dressed, pffft. So, I smiled while she cpped and rhymed, and I got my recently dried underwear, hooker skirt, and hooker T shirt on. Designer bel famous maker or not, people pay extra for this… wrinkled, I rolled around like a whore all night and wore it out the motel room look? Great. Just what would make my daddy proud. As soon as I put it on, however…

  Wow. The evil magic creeps back over me again. It now has me firmly in its twisted grip. I can no longer break free from the wicked spirit that lives in this piece of clothing. The denim mini is some avatar for the god of fuck to live in. You put it on once, and the spirit now jumps into you. I got out of it, thought I was free? I was just kidding myself. I willingly put it back on. I'm ensved. Willingly this time, because now I know better and did it anyways.

  I'm Vaquera again. I look back and turn around, and "modeled" it for him. He just looked up, he still has that slightly dazed, dopey look on. He's under my spell. Vaquera's spell. He's been bit up, scratched. Fucked into complete submission and past it. I almost fucked him to death, then tortured him into screaming my name, and anything else I suggested. Then more, when he was no longer coherent, begging.

  He might be in total and complete submission to me. Fall at my feet, and kiss and beg. For my favor, for Vaquera's mercy. He's locked into utter submission mode now, temporarily I hope. Or not, and do I care? What harm comes from my boyfriend thinking I invented kinky rough sex, and following me around looking half drunk, like a lost little puppy dog that finally found a mommy that will scratch him behind the ears, and py fetch with him. None. No harm. He's for all intents and purposes, now my love sve, sex sve, sex crime victim, whatever you call it? That's him. Like is gone, he's now past love. He's into worship.

  I got everything on, but my boots. Lightning approves of my outfit, but go figure. He does. That's all the people that matter. I'm Vaquera again. Normal time, bath time? Over. Vaquera wants to go out again, and her current favorite slut is going with.

  "Light? Would you hand me that towel…"

  "Thank you, dear. You."

  "Me?"

  "Yeah, you. There a goddamn frog in here I don't know about. Who else."

  I held the towel out, and had him hold it. I'm in my stocking feet, treading carefully, watching out. I don't wanna step in a little puddle, and have to slog around in wet socks for half the party. I slid the chair over, and handed the chair's contents to Light, who pced them on the back of the toilet. I sat on the chair, which allowed me to do more than one thing. I got my stocking feet up and on a chair rung, so I wouldn't get wet socks. Which is just yucky. I was close enough to the tub that I could now hold the towel out rectangur, to hide his naughty bits standing up.

  A little hint of Vaquera's voice that brooked no question wouldn't hurt.

  "Stand up."

  "But…"

  He pointed at Little Lightning.

  "Fuck you. You watched her shower show? You can stand to be in a goddamn towel for ten seconds. You. Up. Now. Move it…"

  Lightning giggled and he stood up. She couldn't help making a quiet "woo woo" noise to tease him. I wrapped the towel around his waist, and fixed the end in to hold it.

  "There."

  Lightning giggled more.

  "Yeah! Where's my purse. You get a dolr…"

  "Fifty cents. He's all bit and scratched up. Until he's healed? Scratch and dent bin, if anyone wants him."

  Lightning cpped. Uninhibited jokes are her mainstay when her mood's up.

  "You. Here's mommy's keys. Bedroom. Get dried off? Get dressed. Report back with my boots? And don't make me come looking for you. Move it. Shoo…"

  Lightning stopped him, she couldn't help it.

  "Get over here…"

  He walked over and stood, wondering what she wanted.

  "Okay. Go. Just wanted to check her goods out. Get!"

  He jetted off, smiling dopey.

  "Good eye, Hurry. Not a bad… specimen."

  "He'll do."

  "I'm impressed. Litter trained and everything. He won't make a move to offend you. Not one word. He asked for permission, to pinch my inch, to see if I had one. They don't make em like that anymore, do they?"

  "They used to. That? Used to be the… base model."

  "Really…"

  "Back in my grandma's day? Every girl got one of those, if they wanted one. They were everywhere. You could walk down to the gas station, pick one up like a pack of smokes. Tough, polite, hard working. Now? We get what we get. Why do you think I snatched this one up."

  "Yeah. Where did we go wrong, you think."

  "You mean me and you? Or…"

  "All of us. Where did the fuck-up start. If these were all over, where did they go."

  "We fucked it all up? Between 1960 and 1980. Around 1970 was the tipping year, it was obvious the boat had a leak."

  "The fuck happened then? I wasn't even born yet."

  "Me neither. We tried the first time, in the 20s. Remember the fppers? Women, waiting tables for dimes… just bought stocks, they all went gangbusters, everyone made money. Men, girls, everyone just ran around. Drinking, smoking cigarettes. Women were allowed to show their legs, smoke in public, go to bars with the men. Women had recently got the right to vote."

  "That's when the fun started. Those fppers? They knew how to live and have fun, for old timer gals."

  "Failed experiment. Syphilis ran wild. Stock market crashed. Great depression. Things went back to… normal. Hard times, hard men. No money, no jobs? But… the pickings were good. If you liked macho men."

  "I'm a fan, when I have my choice. And I usually do."

  "Then? World war two. Rosie the riveter. Women? Had to work factory jobs, to get us through the war. When the war was over, most of the Rosie's had to choose between their first real paychecks? Or… back into the kitchen. Most of them, believe it or not? Ran back to the kitchen. They did their duty, life was normal again. A few Rosie's though, but… nothing major."

  "After world war two, Hurry. The ones that lived? Hard men came back."

  "Yep. The baby boom. Pickings? Were great. Go pick up a pack of smokes, and grab a polite hard ass while you're there. Labor jobs everywhere, the men were happy to work and raise families. You could buy a nice house for a thousand bucks, car was less than that, brand new."

  "Life was good."

  "To hear the old people talk? Yeah."

  "So… where did we fuck up? We lived through the fppers, and the depression. We made it through the big war. What the fuck happened."

  "Women's rights, feminism. The modern, independent woman? Was born. We could smoke, drink, own a business, have a career, go to college to be something other than a teacher or a nurse."

  "Sounds okay."

  "We thought so. But, look where we're at now. He's right, you know. Women? Are running around like crazy. Men and women competing for the limited good jobs. Women are getting those jobs, because of hiring quotas. Still demanding the men make more than they do, and take care of them and the kids. The women? Running around, and getting divorced. Its a hot mess. You know he's right."

  "Hurry? We're supposed to find… making our guy a sandwich, or a meal… demeaning."

  "Yeah. And working for some business owner, ordering us around like sves. That's not?"

  "I see your point. You cook. I mean, you don't just make sandwiches, you actually cook. Casseroles, soups, roasts and side dishes. You're the den mother."

  "You have any idea how much money a guy has to earn, so we can stay home, and cook and clean and go take yoga csses and get your hair and nails done, go shopping… or whatever?"

  "Lots. That? Is what my mom wanted."

  "Icky. She make it to…"

  "What? Actual rich remarried divorcee? Not really. Not like she puts airs on, she didn't. She likes to pretend she's country club, old money? She's fronting that shit. Hard. It makes me wanna puke. We needed a maid coming in once a week, so she had time for shopping? Like I need an asshole on my forehead. I'm pretty sure, that tall Swedish welder? Would have provided steak and pork chops, just fine. From what I remember as a toddler, from what I heard from retives when… she wasn't within earshot… he was, you know. One like him."

  "Decent guy. Quiet hard ass. Hard working. Dedicated."

  "Yeah."

  A voice shouted out of the bedroom.

  "What do you want me to wear!"

  She looked at me.

  "You dress him?"

  "Its… he's probably wondering what to wear to a hot tub party."

  "Honey! You wanna wear Jungle Jim, go on…"

  "Jungle Jim?"

  "You know how little kids, will wear the same couple things every time, if you let them?"

  "Sure."

  "He… I guess the MP's down Texas, they all wore these… heavy duty, cargo pockets, Army shorts. He says they're official jungle issue. He loves them."

  "You?"

  "Pffft. I love him. Which… has the Jungle Jim's… growing on me."

  "Hmm. Shouldn't you yell out socks and shirt instructions? You don't want him naked."

  "Once Jungle Jim comes out? I can call it. Gray military police T shirt. Work boots, socks turned down over the ces."

  "Hmm. When's the wedding."

  "After we graduate for the st time. When else."

  "I told you Hurry, it started out as a joke? I mean it now. I'm… actually jealous. I fucking had one of those. I tried too hard, and fucked it up. I didn't know, you know how Army guys think of money?"

  "Army? No. I can talk about Air Force though, obviously."

  "Job. Need one. Got one. Got that covered. Hey, we need beer. Okay… gimme some green stuff. Go in my room. Wallets in my drawer. Get the good stuff, I just got paid. Off the one goes, comes back with beer. No… who owes what, who buys, nothing. Some guy had a new jacked up truck. Tried teasing him. He ughed. That's because you're a faggot who can't tell a wrench from your own pathetic little dick… and he ughed and drove off."

  "Sounds like him. Money? Doesn't matter. You got food, water? One pair of clothes left? All good."

  "They got a dog. Down there."

  "Eh?"

  "Yeah. One almost got killed, dodging cars to try to get this… little puppy in the middle of the highway, crowded up against the… cement middle thing."

  "Someone dropped it off. In the highway. To get it killed, because they didn't have the guts to do it themselves. Assholes, Lightning. They're everywhere."

  "Guy actually risked his life, to rescue this little puppy. Its an Army dog now."

  "Oh. German Shepard pup, huh?"

  "Oh, no. Some… lord knows what, mutt."

  "Nice puppy?"

  "Adorable. But, its an Army dog. It has a job."

  "What… is the puppy's job?"

  "Guards the beer cooler. See, the puppy? Will sit, wherever it gets petted the most, by as many people as possible. Which means. It figured out, that if it sits in front of the beer cooler? It gets… petted. Talked to. Here, have half a cheeseburger. Dog sleeps on the beer cooler now. Thinks its living the life."

  "Is there a point to this, other than for a bunch of Army fighting guys, they're really sweet underneath it all?"

  "I guess that. But… that, in there?"

  "Yeah?"

  "He's… like that dog. You found him. You brought him home. Far as he's concerned? He's living the life."

  "Yeah. I can't believe it. His… whole life? Fits in a beat up green footlocker. Two of those… big green mail sacks they all have? Couple boxes. That's it. Oh, the motorcycle. Done."

  "You need more?"

  I looked down around the doorway, towards my room.

  "Nope."

  "Smart girl."

  "Hey. I ain't majoring in basket weaving."

  "Hmm. I am."

  "Advanced basket weaving, and don't you forget it."

  "Thanks."

  "Anytime."

  I couldn't help raising my voice. Well, raising Vaquera's voice. Whatever. Functional equivalence is a great concept, after all.

  "Hey! If I gotta come in there and get you? You're getting scratched up some more! Come on!"

  I'm teasing. I know what he's doing. Putting stuff away, locking the closet, double checking there's nothing… strange out. Just in case Lightning follows us into our room ter, gabbing. Here he comes. I called it, the entire outfit. He's beaming, like a little kid that gets to proudly show off his favorite superhero PJ's.

  Lightning couldn't help it.

  "Well. Apparently, we're going to shoot some Chinks, in the woods? On the way to get to the hot tub party. Nice."

  "In world war two? We shot Japs, not Chinks."

  "I'm kidding, JJ."

  "JJ?"

  "Jungle Jim. This is your hooker girlfriend? Trixie. Now. We're going to a hot tub party, JJ. Do I have to pull your pants down, and make sure you have boxers on? Tight-y Whiteys are out this year."

  "One pair. Dark green, standard issue. Men's boxers. Size 2XL. Clean. Dry. Serviceable. I'm ready."

  "2XL? Hurry, the fuck's he packing in those JJ shorts, Christ."

  "I like… what I call… breathe-ability."

  "Free-balling. Gotcha. We go now?"

  "Honey?"

  "We're waiting on you. My boots… come on…"